


this could be something

by bodtlings



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blind Date, M/M, background iwaoi bc real mvps, blind date au, inserts books into everything i do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8278045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodtlings/pseuds/bodtlings
Summary: Oikawa and Iwaizumi want the best for their friends: one plays too much Super Smash Bros and the other is too comfortable. They decide to do something about it, and what way to solve two problems than by putting the two people in question together? A blind date au that contains the following essentials: meme discourse, science fiction, and a strong desire for milkshakes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> here's a thing! 
> 
> if you'd like to help me pay some bills and commission me, [here's](http://bodtlings.tumblr.com/post/150711098277/hello-everyone-im-gonna-keep-this-as-short-as) my info!

“You did _what?_ ” 

“Happy birthday?”  

“My birthday isn’t for another _four months_ , Oikawa.”

Hanamaki and Oikawa are situated in their favorite spot for lunch, on the side of the rooftop that overlooks the exact street they both walk down to head to and from school each day. They’re not supposed to be up there, but Oikawa insisted, saying something about how it’s the last few weeks before the heat dies down and the cold weather starts to kick in. He wants to enjoy it before it ends, and what better way to do so than by dragging your best friend up to restricted areas of the school to do so? They sit side-by-side, bags thrown onto the floor and legs spread out before them. Lazy breezes remind them of the upcoming chill, and Oikawa zips up his uniform jacket halfway.

Hanamaki slumps back against the brick wall of the building, chewing his lunch with a pout. “I can’t believe you set me up on a _blind date._ Were you _that_ bored?” 

“Well,” Oikawa mumbled around a mouthful of milk bread, “it sounds like a good idea! And Iwa-chan agreed. He wants you to stop playing that smash game so much and go out. Be adventurous! Be young and stupid!”

With a loud gasp and a dramatic hand to his chest, Hanamaki turns to his best friend with a look of sheer disbelief. “I’ll have you know that Super Smash Bros is the best game in existence and I will personally fight you on this.”

Oikawa swallowed the rest of his bread and stretched to the side to get another one from his bag. “Anyway, Iwa-chan gave me his number to give to you. I gave him your number so he can give it to the guy we’re setting you up with! You’re meeting up next week at that bookstore a few blocks from school.”

“Oh so now you’re giving away my private information to? _And_ setting me up for murder? What if he’s a serial killer? What if he’s ugly and has bad hair and -”

Oikawa slaps a hand over Hanamaki’s mouth and raises an eyebrow. “Relax! Let Oikawa-san take care of everything for you and you can save your thanks for later.”

Hanamaki licks at Oikawa’s palm to get it off his face (“ _Ew_ , Makki!”) and finishes his lunch, all the while wondering just why he chose Oikawa to be his best friend in the first place. Oikawa slips a folded paper square into Hanamaki’s jacket pocket right before they leave.

 

* * *

 

“You did _what?”_

“Yep.”

“Alright that’s...fair, I guess.”

On the ground floor in Iwaizumi’s classroom, Matsukawa and Iwaizumi share Iwaizumi’s desk to eat their own lunches. The classroom is relatively quiet, and if Matsukawa aimed for a guess, he’d say everyone was outside enjoying the last bit of good weather before it all started to freeze over. Iwaizumi tells him what Oikawa told him to say but without the sugar-coated fluffy garbage he wanted Iwaizumi to feed to Matsukawa to get him to agree.

They’re quiet while they eat, lost in their own thoughts and enjoying the comfortable silence that always finds them like an old friend. Matsukawa rolls over the idea of a blind date in his head all the while, wondering what kind of person Iwaizumi is setting him up with, what their favorite food might be and if he’ll like them. He’s never given thought to dating much, let alone a blind date, but he reasons he’s got nothing to lose, and who knows, maybe something good will come out of it. And if not, well, he gave it a shot and he’ll have a funny story to tell when it’s over. 

When they’re just about finished, Iwaizumi’s classmates begin to filter back into the classroom, one by one like a line of ants, and Matsukawa takes his cue to leave. He throws out his trash and packs up his things to return to his own classroom where English awaits his return.

“Matsukawa.”

With his hands stuffed into his pockets and his bag slung over his shoulder, Matsukawa turns around in the doorway as a smaller girl squeezes past him to get inside. “Hm?”

“I gave him your number. Here’s his, in case you’re interested. Apparently you’re supposed to meet up at the bookstore a few blocks down from here, so. I’ll leave it to you, then.”

Matsukawa takes the small slip of paper with Iwaizumi’s scratchy handwritten numbers on it. He nods once and waves behind him, taking his time walking down the hall to his classroom. He stares at the numbers and huffs. How bad could it be? 

 

* * *

 

Hanamaki is _not_ going to be the one that texts first.

He hates being the first one to initiate conversations. How are you even supposed to? Usually he’ll just send a weird meme he saw on Twitter to get the ball rolling, but only with people who know him already because they expect it. Hanamaki has no clue who this other dude is and he’s certainly not going to text first; he has no meme for this occasion, and even if he did, he does not want to waste a good one on someone who might not appreciate it anyway.

So he decides to wait, which is actually quite frustrating. Oikawa told him that Iwaizumi had given his number to the other person, so he definitely has it right now, if he accepted. He almost wishes Oikawa didn’t say that, because now he’s in this weird state of constantly anticipating something he’s not even sure will happen. Did the other guy lose his numer? Is he not interested? Is it possible to _not_ be interested when there’s no information about Hanamaki to go on? 

Oikawa told him about this blind date thing two days ago and his phone has given him nothing but radio silence the entire time. After his classes finish on the second day, Hanamaki throws himself onto his bed and distracts himself with games to keep his sanity somewhat intact. He makes the resolve to never do anything like this again when his phone buzzes. An unfamiliar number slides across his screen and asks him if he’d like to accept the message despite it not being in his contact list; he opens his phone and clicks _Yes_ and reads the message:

 _From: Unkown_  
_09/15, 05:32pm  
_ _question #1: do u appreciate dank memes y/n_

“An impressive first question,” Hanamaki mutters to himself, and a good first impression has been checked off the mental list of good qualities. He thinks about the proper way to delve into Meme Discourse™ and comes up with a suitable response. 

 _To: Unkown_  
_09/15, 05:34pm_  
_depends on what u mean by dank memes._  
are we talkin dat boi or back in the ancient _times when_  
“orly” dominated meme culture.

Not even a minute passes before Hanamaki’s phone beeps with another text message alert.

 _From: Unkown_  
_09/15, 05:34pm  
_ _i see we have a meme connoisseur in our midst. perfect._

 

* * *

 

It’s been three days since their first message and Hanamaki’s meme collection has grown exponentially. 

They’ve been texting back in forth, sometimes actual questions about each other, sometimes questions disguised as memes. They don’t send pictures of themselves to “keep the mystery,” as Matsukawa worded it, but they talk, and surprisingly, the conversation is easy-flowing. Neither feels pressure to persist and neither feels as if it’s being forced. It’s as if they’ve been friends all along, which makes the date they’ve been assigned to meet seem much easier.

The date Iwaizumi and Oikawa have set up for them a week after they were told about it falls on a Wednesday afternoon.

School has been let out for the day and Hanamaki’s shoulder blades hurt from hunching over his desk for hours at a time. He stretches and yawns, working out the kinks and knots that have intertwined throughout the day, and quick footsteps behind him help brace for the impact that is Oikawa running his way. They don’t talk for too long -- they ask how each other’s day was, if they received grades yet or if they have too much homework -- and after, Oikawa waves goodbye and walks without Hanamaki beside him. It feels strange for Hanamaki to not walk with Oikawa, but Hanamaki rocks on his heels and remembers he has somewhere to be. 

With his hands in his pockets and an absent-minded tune on his tongue, Hanamaki whistles his way towards the bookstore. It’s become popular with the students in the past year or two; an older woman owns the shop and sits in a rocking chair with layers of blankets and reads the whole day away. None of the books are organized except for the science fiction section, and that’s only because she has so many of them that she had to put them all together. The bookstore isn’t a large place, but it’s big enough to have some chairs and tables and mismatched decorations to make one feel comfortable enough to stay there for a little while. Students have been going there on their lunch breaks or after school to find books and hang out for a bit before heading home for the night, and the woman who owns it will have cups of tea for those who ask. It’s homey.

Hanamaki reaches the bookstore in almost no time at all. His phone says he’s fifteen minutes early, which he didn’t intend and didn’t necessarily want; he always thought it was better for the other person to arrive at your meeting spot first so you can scope them out some before making yourself known. You never know who’ll turn out to be a serial killer, or worse: steal your bag of chips.

Since he’s there first, Hanamaki sees no harm in heading inside to look around and keep himself busy before Matsukawa arrives. A small charm rings as he opens the door, and as soon as he steps inside, Hanamaki feels relieved that there are at least a few other people besides the shop owner strolling through the bookshelves or sitting down to read.

He finds himself in the science fiction section; it’s not really his cup of tea, but Oikawa talks about it so much he might as well be an avid reader. There’s a book on the end of the slanted wooden shelf with various gears and symbols and layers of machinery on the cover, almost as if it was made in a fit of hysteria. Hanamaki picks it up and slides his fingers over the cover, tracing each gear and raising an eyebrow.

“Looks like junk to me,” he mutters to himself.

“I don’t know, that was actually a pretty good story. Little fucked up, but if that’s your thing go for it.”

“Jesus!” Hanamaki jumps and drops the book, whirling around to see who the voice was that spoke from behind him. He hears the pages flutter as it falls on his feet, heart pounding something fierce, and the boy behind him lets out a smug smirk at a job well done.

The boy raises his hand in a half-wave and raises an eyebrow. “Jesus can’t save you now, Hanamaki.”

Matsukawa is tall. _Too_ tall. Long legs, long arms, strong build but hunched posture -- he seems tired, but Hanamaki supposes that’s just his normal look. Hanamaki remembers asking Oikawa something about horrible hair, and he doesn’t know if Matsukawa’s hair is horrible, there’s just...a lot of it. In curls, in waves, in an unruly but somehow attractive mess, for lack of a more accurate word, Matsukawa’s mop of black hair seems thick ( _It’s full of secrets,_ he comments to himself). 

He’s attractive. Hanamaki doesn’t know what he expected, but Matsukawa is attractive. Fuck.

“Jesus saves all, _Matsukawa._ Spares none and saves us all.”

Matsukawa puts a finger to his chin and stops to consider it for a minute. “Hmm...you’re right. Do you know what Jesus would want right now, though?”

“What?" 

Bending down, Matsukawa retrieves the book Hanamaki dropped from the floor and picks it up. “For you to get this book. And maybe grab a milkshake with me. I have an insane craving for a vanilla shake right now.” 

Hanamaki wiggles his eyebrows, “Ooh, she thicc.” 

Matsukawa stares, wide-eyed and caught off guard for a second, before emitting a series of strained snickers. “Extra thicc.” They high-five and moved their way through the various bookshelves, pointing to large books and calling them thicc in various octaves of voice and weird accents. They were about to leave, but Matsukawa grabbed onto Hanamaki’s sleeve before he left the shop. 

“Hold on a second, I forgot something.”

“Go ahead, I’ll wait here.”

Matsukawa weaves through the aisles with a lanky clumsiness, like he doesn’t know how to control his long limbs and keep them from knocking into displays and kicking the corners of the bookcases. Hanamaki watches him go, his curly head high above the rows of books, and smiles. He finds himself wishing Matsukawa would hurry back. 

In his pocket, Hanamaki’s phone vibrates, and he takes it out to check who the text is from. He doesn’t see the name because Matsukawa thumps something on top of his head to signal his return. He looks up and sees a string of words towering over his forehead, upside-down and indecipherable. “What’s that?” 

“I couldn’t let you leave without having this. Consider it a first present.” Matsukawa removes it from Hanamaki’s hand and holds it out to him. “It’s weird as fuck, you’ll like it. You feel bad for weird species and ape-like things who like machines.” 

Hanamaki stares at it and takes it from Matsukawa. “Technology-loving monkeys? Sold.”

His mind spins around “first” present, like a hint at the possibility of continuation, and Hanamaki likes the sound of it.

 

* * *

 

 _To: Makki (⊙ꇴ⊙)_  
_09/22, 09:17pm_  
_makki!!! u never called me after ur date!! and u ignored my text, how could u.  
rlly hope _ _ur not dead that would suck lolol. c_ _all me later!!_

Oikawa sits with his legs lazily draped over Iwaizumi’s lap and pouting against his shoulder. “Makki is so rude, Iwa-chan. And here I thought he’d give me the full details about possible prince charming.” 

Iwaizumi presses play on the movie they’re starting, sinking into the couch with an arm looped around Oikawa’s waist. His phone buzzes twice to signal a message and he reaches to the arm of the couch to retrieve it. 

 _From: Matsukawa Issei_  
_09/22, 09:18pm,_  
_let me know how i can thank u over the weekend._  
_he’s perfect._

 


End file.
